


Dreamless Sleep

by crystalclark94



Series: bits and pieces [1]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Depression, Gen, Mentions of addiction, PTSD, Panic Attack, anxiety attack, dreamless sleep potion
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-26
Updated: 2017-03-26
Packaged: 2018-10-10 19:54:51
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 687
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10446156
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/crystalclark94/pseuds/crystalclark94
Summary: Sleep was his refuge from the world.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Little drabble I did as a warm up one day. I really like it so I decided to post. 
> 
> Warning: I already tagged for this, but just in case, this fic contains depression and PTSD.

He couldn’t sleep that night, nightmares tearing through his dreams in bright lights of red and green. He hadn’t been sleeping well in months, honestly. There’s only so much Dreamless Sleep one was allowed to take before people started being nosy, and medi-witches started restricting access. He admits it was the later that was the finality of him not being able taking it. 

 

The look of worry and disappointment on Madam Pomfrey’s face was something that he didn’t like dwelling on. Nor was the brutal conversation they had on the subject. 

 

_ “Harry, I hate to do this to you dear, but this is the last vial.” She handed over the potion in a discreet little black drawstring bag. His hands shook as he accepted the parcel, and as he looked down at it, even he noticed the sheen of sweat covering his arm, and how pale and gaunt it looked. The rest of his body was in varying degrees of the same state. Signs of addiction, but even worse, signs of withdrawal. He hadn’t been able to get to the hospital wing the past couple of days, and had been forced to suffer without.  _

 

_ His grip tightened on the potion, as Pomfrey's words sank in. No more Dreamless Sleep. No more sanctuary from the nightmares that didn’t end upon awakening. The constant state of fear, of hypervigilance, of walking down every hallway with his wand at the ready in his hand, hidden by the sleeve of his robe, for any threat that may be waiting in the shadows or around the next corner.  _

 

_ Sleep was his refuge from the world. The only place (with the aid of a little bit of potion) that he could cease the chaos that had taken over his head. He was tired of being scared, he was tired of being afraid of his own fucking shadow.  _

 

_ He attempted to school his features into something resembling nonchalance, as if her taking it away didn’t matter in the slightest.  _

 

_ “Come on Madam Pomfrey. I just have trouble sleeping sometimes is all. It’s not a big deal. Plenty of people use it.” He gave a smile that felt like it was splitting his face open at the edges. When was the last time he gave a smile and meant it? He couldn’t remember.  _

 

_ It did not have the intended effect on her that he wished. Her frown grew more pronounced, and her furrowed brow became even more distinct.  _

 

_ “Harry, you’re correct. A lot of people do use it, occasionally, and for brief periods of time. This potion is not intended for extensive use. You know this. It can be highly addictive, and if taken too often can impair an individual's ability to dream and even eliminate the possibility altogether.”  _

 

_ She reached out to him, and put what he assumed was supposed to be a comforting hand on his shoulder. Instead it felt like it was made of concrete, and as if it put the entire weight of the world upon his shoulders. He didn’t think he could stand it. He stepped back, ensuring that her hand was in no way touching him.  _

 

_ “I need it Pomfrey.” He stressed. “ I can’t sleep without it. Every time I try all I see is death. Everyone I care about.” His breath hitched, his eyes started to sting with the burn of unshed tears. “ Hermione, Ron, Neville, so many people that almost didn’t make it, and-an” He stops mid sentence. It feels as if he can’t breath. He slows down, and inhales steadily, ensuring he’s not suffocating (like it feels he is). “I see the people I couldn’t save. Sirius, Remus, Tonks, and George! They’re all dead, and they blame me, because it’s my fault. It’s my fault. It’s MY FAULT!” The tears finally break away and roll down his face. His breath is short again, and the edges of his vision black out, until the blackness takes him over completely.  _

 

That was only one panic attack of many, and true to her word, the last bottle of Dreamless Sleep he was able to acquire from her ever again. 


End file.
